Concealed
by AriMarvelUniverse
Summary: "Steve Rogers." the new recruit informed me, sticking out a delicate hand for me to shake. "I guess we're sharing bunks." I smirked and grabbed his hand, shaking slowly. "Scruffy Monroe." This guy wasn't going to last a week here. Captain/OC. NOT a Boy/Boy! Rating might go up.
1. Chapter 1

"_Are you kidding me right now?"_

That's the very first thing that ran through my mind when the Colonel introduced the new recruits to my barrack. It was all I could think, once I got a good look at HIM.

Don't get me wrong, most of them were just fine. They looked like the regular, muscle bound, brain dead Cro Magnon man soldiers that were paraded through the camp daily. Tall, burly, with glass eyed stares that only lit up when they were talking about their guns or the scores of poor kids they beat up in middle school. But there was one of them that was different- so different, I didn't believe he was a recruit until they announced his name. Actually, I missed him completely the first time.

«»«»«»«»

I stood next to my bunk mates as Colonel Phillips called out their names one by one. "Gilmore Hodge...Randall Jesse...Mike Rabioso...David Nowell..." On and on. I let my eyes skip over their faces, tuning in and out.

"Perry Brown...and...Steven Rogers." The resentful disdain in the Colonel's voice when he hit that last name made me glance up and snap to attention. I looked at him first, and I almost choked on my laughter at the 'I-just-ate-shit' expression slathered all over his face. I did a quick head count of the newbies...then blinked and did it again. Unless I was mistaken, one of them was missing. Either that, or I had suddenly forgotten how to count. The Colonel had named ten guys, but there were only nine bodies in line.

"Welcome to the 107th, gentlemen. May God be with you. I wish you… the best of luck." After delivering that hearty and sincere welcome (yeah, not), Colonel Phillips turned on his shiny heel and walked out, and the new recruits started putting their stuff on their beds. On of the guys, a real meat head named Hodge, shoved someone and moved, and that was when I saw him. The last recruit.

This guy was so small he could've been mistaken for a kid, or trampled in a large crowd. He had been at the end, hidden behind Hodge. I'm no beefcake, not by the longest shot, but this guy was so SKINNY. When he was pushed, I half expected him to fall down and break. My little cousin could have beat him up for his lunch money- and Ricky has polio, for God's sake. Rogers was pale and sickly looking, and quite frankly he looked like he has no business being anywhere near an Army encampment. And he was headed right for me, and my bunk. Great.

"Hey there." he said cheerily, holding out a delicate hand for me to shake. "Steve Rogers. I guess we're sharing bunks." I was a whole five inches taller than him. Despite his size, he was a nice looking fellow, with blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, and a nice smile set on an open, strong face.

I stuck out my hand and took his, shaking slowly. "Scruffy Monroe." I answered, smirking. Scruffy was the nickname the other guys had given me due to the layer of dust and dirt constantly smeared on me. It was also the reason why I didn't have a bunkmate, and the others razed me about being unclean, but that was a small price to pay for my secret. Rogers, apparently, wasn't buying it. "That's not your real name, is it?" he asked. I rolled my eyes. "Chatty, aren't you? Fine, you got me. It's Scott." I retorted, giving him the same name I'd given the elistment officer.

"Where are you from, Scott?"

I gritted my teeth. "Boston." Steve reached up to put his bag on his bed. He had to stretch up on his tippy tip toe to do it. Some of the other guys saw it and laughed at him, and I felt embarrassed for both of us. To his credit, Steve ignored the snickers and kept doing what he was doing. "Officially, I'm from Brooklyn." he said.

"Good for you." I mumbled, wishing he'd clam up already. It had been a long, hard day. My body was sore, my brain was fried, and I did not feel in the mood for this. I had never been one for stupid jibber jabber in the first place.

"Hey, where's everybody going?" Steve asked, watching the other guys stand up and file out of the bunk.

"Dinner in the mess hall." I told him, standing up myself. "You don't want to be late for that, trust me." Steve followed me out with a definite spring in his step, the setting sun lighting up his eyes and turning his hair orange. "I just can't wait until we start tomorrow." he tossed out. "I still can't believe I finally got in." I sighed and pushed open the mess hall door.

"_Really_? I'd have thought you'd be a shoo in."

He either missed my sarcasm, or he completely ignored it. "Well, I guess I'll talk to you a little later, Scott." Steve smiled and went to go stand in line for his food, leaving me staring after him in total disbelief.

He wasn't going to last a week here.


	2. Chapter 2

After Rogers walked away, I blinked and shook my head, going over to the second line to get my food. It looked and smelled like meat, with grey sauce and frozen apple juice. Typical army fare. I made sure the attendant filled my plate up with everything there was. I needed to bulk up, but no matter how much I ate, my stubbornly slim figure refused to spread out. It was compromising my cover. I grabbed a random plate and squirmed through the wall of sweaty soldiers and recruits to a table near the back, where some guys I kind of knew and occasionally said hi to were sitting.

One of them, an older soldier named Burgess, looked up and nodded as I slid into my seat. "Hey there, Scruffy." I glanced at him, grunted, and started shoving meat into my mouth. I used my hands and ignored my napkin, licking and smacking loudly so that lumpy gravy and spit added a layer of nastiness to my face, further obscuring my features. Perfect. No female raised anywhere but the woods would ever eat like that, which is exactly why I did it. Burgess watched me and grimaced, leaning away. "Don't you have any manners, kid?" I glowered at him and rolled my eyes, swallowing to speak. "What are you, a girl?"

Burgess frowned, then laughed. "Guess it comes from having a wife at home." Thankfully, he turned away from me after that, and I sighed in silent relief. Most of the soldiers think I'm simply underaged, but they have no idea of the real situation. And I want to keep it that way.

Another guy with squinty, beady black eyes named Keaton started tearing his brownie to hunks with his thick fingers. "The Colonel looked like somebody shoved a Charelston Chew up his ass earlier, didn't he?" he said casually. Burgess snorted into his gravy. "Hush up, stupid. You'll get court marshalled. Although," he said, "I reckon he had a reason to, on account of the sorry state of those new recruits." I wiped a smear of meat juice off my chin. "They didn't look too bad." I tossed out. And it was true- most of them hadn't. Burgess seemed to read my mind, and he raised one grizzled grey eyebrow. "Yep...but what about him?" he said, nodding at something across the mess hall. "What business has him here, of all places?" I followed his gaze, and saw none other than my new best friend Steve Rogers shovelling his food.

He looked, if possible, even smaller sitting down, and from the back at this distance he resembled a six year old. For a wild moment, I wondered if he was even going to FINISH his food. He didn't look capable. I closed my eyes and moved my head slowly from side to side, watching as Hodge sauntered over and stood behind him. Deliberately, and very much on purpose, Hodge raised his arm and dropped his orange into Steve's plate, splattering him with soupy sauce. I winced, but Steve didn't jump up and clock Hodge like I thought. Instead, he just wiped himself off and went back to eating. Hodge sneered something at him and walked away.

"I have no idea." I said, turning back to my food. Burgess clicked his tounge. "Poor lad. He'll be crushed. It's a shame, really." Keaton took a break from scarfing his dessert. "He's not a normal recruit. He's one of the Lab Rats."

I wrinkled my nose. "Lab Rats?"

Keaton smirked. "Yeah. That Jerry scientist that chats up the Colonel brought them here. He's some kind of Doctor Frankenstein- he's gonna turn them into some kind of soldier experiment."

"Experiment?"

"Yep. Like Superman or something- invulnerable, ya know." I narrowed my eyes at him. "How in the hell so you know all of that?" Keaton opened his mouth, but Burgess cut across him. "That's a bunch of hooey. Nobody can be invulnerable. You read too many comics, Keaton." he said gruffly. Keaton scowled and flipped him off when he wasn't looking, but went back to eating. The conversation dropped. I snuck another glance at Steve, curious. What if Keaton wasn't full of crap? What if it was true, and Steve was really here to be some super covert agent soldier?

As I watched, he dropped his fork on the floor and bent over to get it. His arms were so short, they dangled an inch away from the utensil, and he went red in the face as he struggled to reach it, kicking his legs.

Super Soldier? Yeah, right.

«»«»

After dinner we all left the mess hall and went to the showers. I hung back, making sure I was one of the very last ones to go and that I would have a stall to myself before I went in. There were no doors, and the water was cold, so I stripped and scrubbed the important stuff like a maniac, shivering and cursing. If it was up to me, I wouldn't bathe at all. But we have cleanliness quotas, and I know I'm already on the edge. If you don't smell at least acceptable, you get the hose. And no-one wanted the hose. NO ONE.

After I was clean, I wrapped my rough towel around myself and went to the exit. On the way out, I caught my reflection in one of the shaving mirrors, and I stopped. It had been a while since I really saw myself, and I stared. A fierce young woman glared back, with bright blue eyes and dusky skin made pink from the cold scrubbing. Her thick black hair was cut in a boyish style, and there was a distinct Italian slope to her eyebrows and shape of her nose and mouth. With the dirt washed away, thin, pale scars stood out on her cheekbones, vertical slashes like razor blades. There was a bruise on her chin, and a tiny chip in her front tooth.

I stared at the mirror for a long time before I realized that I was trying to find myself in the image. I had been a man for so long, it was a strange thing to see a girl where my face should have been. This wasn't Scott "Scruffy" Marcus. This was Sofia Marone, the oldest runaway daughter of two stiff Italian immigrants.

I didn't want to see the real me. I threw my uniform back on and went outside, making sure to scoop up a fresh handful of dirt and smear it across my face before going back to my barracks. I WAS a soldier fighting for my country, not a little girl. I had made that distinction long ago to be on the front lines, not behind a stove wearing an apron and wringing my hands like my mother. I was useful and tough and just as good as these meatheads.

And I was ready to kill some Nazis, and prove just how worthy I really was.


End file.
